


remembering, creating

by voltron_is_mine_now



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bonding, Fluff, Galra!Keith, Keith gets injured, M/M, he hides in a closet, he's shot in the side, his friends rescue him, i guess, not really graphic???, not that much angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 08:25:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19081225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voltron_is_mine_now/pseuds/voltron_is_mine_now
Summary: Keith, sitting there now, has plenty of time to think. So he thinks; about Pidge and her obsession with fancy tech, about how Hunk always gives the best (suffocating) hugs, about how Shiro always shoves him good-naturedly and then cackles. About Allura’s love of shiny things, about Coran’s elaborately fake stories. About Lance, and the way just looking at him makes an awkwardly warm feeling pool in the pit of Keith stomach. About the way they seem to have become his family.He wishes he could tell them goodbye, but it’s probably too late for that now.⸻⸺—⸺⸻When Keith gets injured, he assumes it's the end. He remembers all that was, and manages to realize all that could have been.





	remembering, creating

Keith, sitting there now, has plenty of time to think. So he thinks; about Pidge and her obsession with fancy tech, about how Hunk always gives the best (suffocating) hugs, about how Shiro always shoves him good-naturedly and then cackles. About Allura’s love of shiny things, about Coran’s elaborately fake stories. About Lance, and the way just looking at him makes an awkwardly warm feeling pool in the pit of Keith stomach. About the way they seem to have become his family.

He wishes he could tell them goodbye, but it’s probably too late for that now.

Keith is currently sitting propped against the wall of a tiny broom closet in a Galra ship, trying to regulate his breathing. There’s a ragged wound in his right side, right through his paladin armor, and his hands are pressed to it in a feeble attempt to stem the blood. 

Voices no longer crackle through his helmet. He assumes the heavy blasts from the sentries have taken out his comms. He’s growing weaker by the minute, and there’s a fuzzy sort of ache in his mouth and ears.

The ache grows sharper suddenly, and Keith doubles over, groaning. His gloves are soaked through and sticky with blood. It’s dark inside the closet, lit only by the glowing decals on his paladin armor. 

It was meant to be a routine mission—get in, get information, get out. And it had been going fine. Keith had used his handprint (Galra DNA could be useful) to get inside the control panel, taken out the sentries with his bayard, and sent the info straight to Pidge. Then he’d tried to get out, only to find a wall of sentries blocking his way.

A Galra commander was right at the front of the barricade. Keith had acted on instinct, thrusting his sword into the chest of a sentry and making himself a path to get through. Everything had gone well, until the Galra commander had shown up, still with a sickening smirk on his face. 

Keith had been forced to engage in combat with him, and still, everything had been mostly okay. But then the sentry had fired the shot—piercing his armor and side— and Keith had been forced to dash for any cover he could find, only adrenaline carrying him through the rest of the battle. 

He’d yanked open the first door he could find, as soon as he’d distanced himself from his attackers. Keith had thrown himself into the broom closet, and he is still there, slowly bleeding out and wishing he’d had more time. Didn’t everyone wish that? To be able to see their family one more time, do the things they’d always wanted to do. Keith was no exception.

He shifts, sending another jolt of pain through his side. Keith reels off a string of curses, ending with “Stupid quiznaking wound, just fucking  _ heal _ already.”

His wound does not respond. Inconsiderate wound.

Keith is pretty sure this is it. He’s had some close calls— _ very _ close calls—but he’s never actually thought he was going to die. Not really believed it deep down. He does now. It soaks his soul like water to a sponge, a dark shadow covering it. Keith doesn’t have much to do, other than think. So he thinks, about his life, and about what could have been.

**⸻⸺—⸺⸻**

It had started with looks.

Keith had been spending a lot more time with the other paladins—a ridiculous amount of time, for an introvert like himself. Besides the daily battles, he really got to know what they were like when they were just being normal teenagers. He learned all their weird habits and fascinating secrets. Pidge built tech from random parts in her spare time, Hunk remembered every recipe he’d ever baked, Lance—Lance loved learning new things, things not completely relevant but interesting all the same.

( _ Hey, Keith _ , he’d once said,  _ did you know giant squids can eat small whales? _ and Keith had choked on his food goo)

Keith would just sit there, in their rooms or the paladin lounge or the kitchen, and let them jabber on, listening contentedly and occasionally chiming in with ideas or dry comments. He’d hung out with Shiro as well, and even, sometimes, with Allura. They’d settled their differences after he’d told them—honestly—that he’d had no idea about his Galra heritage. Keith had even let her braid his hair once, even though Lance had found out and riotously mocked him for the next phoeb.

It had been okay. Keith had a decent relationship with everyone on the castleship—something he still wasn’t used to. But his stupid heart wouldn’t get with the program.

Keith found himself darting glances at Lance—when they ate, when they trained (Lance refused to let him train against the gladiator  _ all _ the time, so they sparred occasionally, although, as Keith had said, Lance was a shitty swordsman. It was true), when they hung out. Keith had finally realized what was happening when Lance had beaten him at their video game yet  _ again _ —how did Lance do it? Pidge and Hunk beat him almost effortlessly, but maybe that was just their experience with tech. Keith had turned to look at Lance, scowling, and he found Lance’s face aglow with happiness as he laughed.  _ At _ Keith, but somehow, Keith didn’t mind.

Keith punched Lance in the arm, told him he was abandoning him for cheating at the game, and left, trying to keep up the cheery facade. Then he left Lance’s room, panicked slightly, and sprinted down the hall to Shiro’s room, where, thankfully, he encountered none of the other paladins.

He burst into Shiro’s room. Shiro yelped, spinning around, Galra prosthetic activated, and then relaxed when he saw Keith. “Oh, Keith. It’s just you.”

“I have a problem,” Keith declared, still fidgeting. He sat down on the bed without invitation, which was army-neat—everyone at the Garrison, Keith included, still made their beds with the sheets tight enough to be used as concrete. 

Shiro went solemn again. “Is anyone hurt? Are we under attack?”

“No!” Keith lowered his voice as Shiro puffed out an anxious breath, looking calmer. “Everyone’s fine. It’s just—I think that I—I like—”

Shiro looked surprised, his mouth making an  _ O _ . Then his lips curled into a wry grin. “You like Lance?”

Keith jerked. “What? How did you know?”  _ More importantly, does Lance know? _ Keith wondered, heart thudding out of his chest. He hadn’t even been aware of this small—no, medium—okay, enormous crush until  _ today _ —it couldn’t have been that obvious. Maybe he was just incredibly oblivious?

Shiro shook his head, snorting. “Don’t worry. It’s kind of common knowledge on the castleship, I mean,  _ honestly _ , you two have been dancing around each other for so long—” He noticed Keith’s expression and then faltered, a reassuring expression covering the good-naturedly mocking one. “Don’t worry, Keith. Lance doesn’t know.”

Keith puffed out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Okay. What do I do?”

Shiro’s lips pressed together in concentration. “Well, Adam and I kind of got to know each other, and then I had an attack—”

Keith stiffened, and so did Shiro. They both knew enough to avoid mentioning Shiro’s disease, even though it seemed as though during the year in Galra captivity it had slowed its advances, leaving Shiro dying slightly slower. 

“Anyway,” Shiro went on hastily, “he was the one who took me to the hospital, and then we both simultaneously confessed.” His face takes on his thinking expression again. “Maybe wait until one of you gets seriously injured?”

“That’s not helpful, Shiro!” Keith snapped, elbowing him in the ribs. Shiro retaliated by shoving him off the bed. Keith toppled off the flat surface and hit the ground. He splayed himself dramatically on the cold, Altean metal floor. “Oh no, I’ve been hit,” he groaned, trying to look injured. “Help—”

Shiro shoved his foot into Keith’s face, leaving Keith sputtering and smacking Shiro away. “Just try, okay?” Shiro suggests. “Love is—difficult.”

“I’ll say,” Keith said, sitting up on the floor. He leaned against the bed. “You and Adam danced around each other for  _ ages _ , I swear, it was practically painful watching.”

“Hey!” Shiro protested. “Who told you that?”

“Emma,” Keith said smugly. 

“That traitor,” Shiro fumed. He was only pretending to be angry, though, and soon his face morphed into a smirk. “Hey, Keith, maybe we can make Coran the flower girl at you and Lance’s wedding.” 

Keith went brighter red than his lion and settled for yanking the pillow off Shiro’s bed and smacking him with it. This proved to be a bad idea, as Shiro caught the pillow and threw it at him, hitting him smack in the face. Keith fell onto the floor, and Shiro took the opportunity to leap off the bed and dig his fingers into Keith’s side. Keith yelled with laughter, curling into a ball. “Gah, no, Shiro, stop! I’ll do anything! STOP!”

Shiro ceased for a split second, a mock-thinking look on his face. “Will you confess to Lance?”

“Anything but that!” Keith yelled. Shiro mercilessly resumed tickling him. Keith attempted to kick him in the face, but to no avail.

The door slid open, revealing Lance on the other side. “Oh, hey, Shiro, I was wondering—” He stopped, looking at Keith, on the ground. Shiro was still tickling him, and he attempted to wriggle out of his grip. 

“Lance, help me,” Keith wheezed. 

Lance did the absolute opposite: he exclaimed, “Oh my god, Keith is  _ ticklish? _ ” in a delighted voice, and immediately slid on his knees to tickle Keith’s other side. Keith shrieked with laughter, an extremely undignified sound, and flailed, nearly smacking Lance in the face with his hand. 

“This is assault,” Keith protested. Lance and Shiro did not stop. 

When both had finally tired of tickling Keith, he sat up with a groan, clutching his side. “I can’t believe you guys. I thought we fought to rid the universe of evil. You can’t do that if you  _ are _ evil.”

“Worth it,” Lance muttered, grinning. Keith smacked his arm with the back of his hand, scowling.

**⸻⸺—⸺⸻**

Back in the broom closet, a jolt of pain from Keith’s side yanks him from his thoughts. He groans and strains to hear any sound from outside. Nothing but the typical marches of sentries and background white noise from the ship’s intercom system.

Keith wonders whether maybe Lance would have actually liked him back, given more time. He doubts it, but it’s a nice fantasy anyway. His ears and mouth still ache. Is it just him, or do his teeth, his nails feel sharper? Maybe it’s sensory overload from the wound. He can’t move his hands from his side to check, unless he want to bleed out, so he just waits, leaning against a wall in this tiny broom closet.

Keith dives back into his thoughts, considering, deliberating, remembering.

**⸻⸺—⸺⸻**

It was warily that Keith told Allura about his crush on Lance, but she was the oldest on the castleship besides Coran. Keith would climb Mount Everest before admitting to  _ him _ about liking Lance. So Allura it was.

He was sitting cross-legged in front of Allura’s bed, where she sat, deft fingers twining his hair into a style Keith didn’t know the name of, much less how to do. He had the longest hair of anyone else on the team, which made him Allura’s personal guinea pig for new hairstyles.

“Hey, Allura,” Keith started, as she hummed, tying it off with a fancy Altean hair tie. She started on another row of braids. 

“Yes, Keith?” she asked. Her voice wasn’t as prim and proper with the crew of the castleship as it was at Coalition negotiations, which was the only reason Keith felt comfortable enough telling her this. As it was, he was surprised that he had enough courage, but he shoved through that barrier and pressed his lips into a thin line, trying to formulate words that made sense.

“I think I might… have a crush. On Lance,” Keith said, face reddening.

Allura  _ shrieked _ —genuinely shrieked. Keith twisted around, trying to make sure she wasn’t in pain. But no; Allura glowed with happiness, an excited grin on her face. “Yes! Ha-ha!”

“Um,” Keith said. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine!” Allura grinned at him. “It took you long enough. It was  _ phoebs _ ago that the mice told me you and Lance were crushing on each other—”

“Anyway!” Keith interrupted. He wasn’t in the mood for Allura’s excited fangirling, nor for finding out that the mice had noticed so much earlier. “I need advice,” he admitted. “I’ve… never really thought about someone that way.”

“Okay, okay,” Allura declared, still looking thrilled. “First of all, in Altean courtship, you gave them a gift of juniberry flowers—but we won’t be able to do that, they don’t exist naturally in the world anymore. Flowers? Coran said there was a planet nearby with lovely, non-poisonous ones—”

Keith sat and listened to her chatter on. He doubted he’d do anything like that— _ courtship gifts _ , seriously?—but it was nice to know Allura wanted to help. 

**⸻⸺—⸺⸻**

Okay, Keith’s teeth are definitely sharper.

He probes over them with his tongue and cuts it. The coppery taste of blood fills his mouth, and Keith hisses through his teeth. He’s not sure what’s going on, just that it’s bad—very, very bad. The word  _ Galra _ flits through his mind, and he hisses through clenched teeth. He can’t risk taking his hands away from his wound, but terrifying images fill his thoughts—purple skin, yellow eyes, furry ears.  _ Galra _ .

Suddenly, white noise flickers in Keith’s comm. He grunts, shifting, and says, “Guys, are you there?”

Hunk’s voice is filled with relief, edged with desperation. “Keith! Are you okay?”

“No,” he admits. “I’m injured, I can’t move. I’m hiding in a closet right now.”

Pidge’s voice cuts in. “Okay, I’ve got your coordinates. We’re coming. Sit tight, Keith. We’ll be there in two doboshes.”

Allura’s voice then, and it sends a flicker of nostalgia through Keith, remembering stupid hairstyles and chattering voices with British accents. ( _ “What’s a British?” Allura had asked, when Pidge had asked her why the Alteans had such accents. _ ) “We’re coming, Keith.”

“No, guys, don’t risk it,” Keith says. The closet is growing duller, the decals on his armor growing fainter. The shadows seem to blur at the edges as Keith talks into the comm, voice barely above a whisper, hoarse from disuse and pain. “There are too many of them.”

“Keith, you ridiculously noble idiot, of course we’re coming,” Lance says. “Hang in there, buddy. You’re gonna be fine.” Keith’s face grows warm, even though Lance can’t see. “Besides,” Lance adds. “‘There are too many of them’ would be terrible words to engrave on your tombstone.”

Keith puffs out a laugh, then winces. He’s been slowly getting used to the pain. He’s not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing. Shiro starts to say something, but the comm sends a burst of white noise, then cuts out. 

Keith sits there in the newfound silence, thinking,  _ Hurry, hurry, hurry. _

**⸻⸺—⸺⸻**

As Keith sits in the closet, his heart  _ thud-thud-thuds _ —he’s not sure what the team’s going to think when they find him huddled in a closet, possibly bleeding out, and maybe Galra. It really can’t be good.

The ship’s thrown to the side, and Keith with it. He smacks into the wall and yells, trying to muffle it by biting his cheek. It’s not the perfect turn of a hyper-speed jump, it’s the entire ship being tossed to one side—the aftereffect of an explosion.  _ They came _ , a tiny part of Keith’s mind registers, but the rest of it is occupied by trying not to hyperventilate. He feels almost detached from the pain, trying to hear what’s going on outside.

The sounds of battle grow louder, interspersed with shouts and—occasionally, terribly—screams. Keith’s comm suddenly flickers with white noise and then the sounds of the other paladins fighting is right beside his ears. “Guys,” he rasps, and then, louder, “you came.”

“‘Course we came, buddy,” Lance says, voice impossibly warm and soft, despite the inevitable battle occurring right now. 

The pain seems slightly more distant to Keith.

“I’m tracking your heat signature, Keith,” Pidge says. “Lance, go get him. We’re about done here, anyway.” Keith assumes she’s talking to Lance. He flushes. Lance, seeing him like this—bloody, possibly purple, weaker than he’s ever been. It’s not the most desirable thing.

“Okay,” Lance says. Keith hears the sound of his bayard deactivating, then running footsteps. They get closer, and closer, until they’re right outside the closet Keith is sitting in. “Keith, I’m here,” Lance says, and it occurs to Keith that he had locked the door when he’d stumbled into the closet. “Can you unlock the door?”

“I… can’t really move,” Keith admits. “I can try, though—” He attempts to push himself to a standing position, but falls over with a yelp.

“No, don’t do that,” Lance says decisively. “Get back, I’m gonna shoot the doorknob.”

Keith obediently shrinks further into the corner than he already is. He pictures Lance, on the other side of the closet door, hefting his bayard, pulling the trigger—

A loud clang of metal as the door is entirely blown off its hinges. It clatters to the floor, just missing Keith. Light floods the dark space. Keith squints up at Lance, who’s silhouetted against the opening to the closet.

Lance is gaping. “Oh, god, Keith. Are you okay? You—” Lance’s hand comes up to his helmet. He taps a button.  _ Turning off his comms _ , Keith realizes, still pressing his hands to his wound. “You went Galra?”

“I did?” Keith rasps, leaning up to try and get into a better sitting position. “Some kind of survival reflex, I think. It was triggered when this—you know.” He gestures at the wound that’s still oozing blood slowly.

“Can you walk?” Lance asks. He crouches down beside Keith. Keith grips his shoulder and shoves himself up. He tries to take a step and fails miserably, nearly face-planting on the metal of the floor.

“No,” Keith admits.

“Jesus, you’re stubborn,” Lance sighs, and without another word, he leans down and scoops Keith up, carrying him with one arm under his knees and the other behind his back. “C’mon, buddy.” As Lance starts toward the doorway, he asks hesitantly, “Am I allowed to tell the others?”

“They were gonna—find out anyway,” Keith mutters. Every movement from Lance sends a jolt of pain through his (many) wounds, but he tries to stay still and not wince. “It’s fine.”

“Could you tap the button on my comm for me?” Lance asks, maneuvering through the doorway. “Both my arms are full.”

“Sorry,” Keith murmurs, and reaches one hand up toward the button. It’s a strangely intimate gesture, even though Keith is half-dead and Lance’s concentration is mainly on jerkily hurrying through the hallways of the Galra ship. He taps it and then returns his hand to his wound, compressing it.

“Hey, guys,” Lance says, into the comm. “Keith is here, but he’s injured. And—he went Galra.” Lance waits a moment, as they both listen to the burst of voices from the team. When they quiet, Lance says, “Get a healing pod ready. I’ll take Keith back in the blue lion.”

“Roger that,” comes Shiro’s voice through the comm, and then silence. Lance keeps jerkily attempting to run. At one attempt, Lance’s leg catches on something—a sentry’s leg, or a seam in the metal, or maybe nothing. Lance falls. Keith curls into a ball as he hits the ground, sending a wave of pain through his side so severe Keith yell-screams, unable to hold back the sound.

“Oh no,” Lance mutters, scrambling to his feet. He crouches in front of Keith, blurred. Is he supposed to be blurred? Keith isn’t sure. “Are you okay?” Lance says, voice urgently frantic.

“I’m fine,” Keith announces, just before he passes out.

**⸻⸺—⸺⸻**

Keith only remembers the trip back in fragments—Lance’s desperate voice calling his name over and over again, reaching up his hand to brush his fingers across Lance’s helmet. He closes his eyes, and when he wakes up again, he’s propped up against the seat in the blue lion, Lance piloting, his face a mask of concentration. “Hey, buddy,” Lance says, when he notices that Keith’s awake. “Hang in there.”

Keith nods absentmindedly, then blinks again, and when he opens his eyes, it’s mind-numbingly, bone-chillingly cold. He blinks frantically, feeling a strange absence of something. When he sucks in another breath of freezing air, he realizes what it is— _ pain _ . It’s (strangely, wonderfully) freeing, not hurting.

He looks down. He’s in the white suit of the healing pods, suspended in midair as the pod works its magic. As Keith watches, the glass barrier dissolves, leaving him tumbling out. 

Something—some _ one _ —catches him, strong arms steadying him on his feet. Keith shivers, and after a moment, realizes he’s leaning against Lance. He takes a step back, only to scrap that idea when everyone surges forward. He’s being hugged by Pidge, Hunk, Shiro, Allura, Coran— _ Lance _ , warm brown arms squeezing the only-recently-restored life out of him. “Keith,” Lance murmurs, “you’re okay,” and his lips are right next to Keith’s ear—wait. Keith’s ear, and Lance had said that Keith went Galra, which meant—

Keith yanks back out of the hug. “What do I look like?” he asks anxiously. His face grows hot. That wasn’t the way he’d meant to say that.

Allura passes a mirror forward, and Keith makes a noise of disbelief when he stares at himself. His once-black hair is now dark purple, the same shade as his ears, which stick out from his head like fuzzy purple beacons of terror. His eyes aren’t the blank shade of gold most Galra’s eyes are—just his normal purple, albeit flecked with more yellow than he recalls. Keith bares his teeth, which are indeed sharper, more fangs than teeth now. 

Pidge laughs at the expression on his face. “Can I see your teeth?” she asks excitedly. When Keith reluctantly bares his teeth again, she makes the face she usually makes whenever she’s encountering new alien tech—wide-eyed and open-mouthed. Lance prods at one of his teeth with his finger and winces, drawing it back to stare at the bead of blood already welling up. 

“Jeez, Keith,” Lance says. “You scared us.”

“You  _ dropped _ me,” Keith protests. “We are absolutely even.”

Lance’s face reddens. “You remember that?”

Keith nods drily. “You were trying to run, carrying me—which  _ hurt _ , by the way—and then you tripped and you dropped me. And I passed out. Because it hurt. A lot.”

Lance pouts. “Aw, man, you’re not gonna hold a grudge, are you?”

“Nah,” Keith says. “I forgive you. You were hurrying.”

“You feel okay?” Shiro asks anxiously. Keith nods. Shiro ruffles his hair, then hugs him again, squeezing so tight Keith is fifty percent sure he’s cracked a rib. Keith doesn’t mind. 

“This has all been lovely,” Coran interrupts, “but it’s late, and we have a big meeting with the Coalition tomorrow. Glad to have you back, Number Four!” Coran pats Keith’s shoulder enthusiastically. The crowd in the infirmary slowly disperses, first Coran, then Allura, Hunk, Pidge, Shiro. Eventually, it’s just Keith and Lance in there, sitting in an awkward silence.

“I’m gonna go to my room,” Keith says abruptly, awkwardly. “You should go to sleep too. It’s got to be, what, twelve am Earth time?”

Lance nods absentmindedly. Keith stands and walks out of the infirmary, glad that his room is only a short distance away. He trudges inside—he’s tired, and still bone-chillingly cold from the cryopod, but his jacket is in the wash—and changes into his normal clothing, glad to feel the ordinary dark cloth. He peers at himself in the mirror, still frowning at his ears. They’re—strange, to say the least. 

There’s a knock at his door. Keith opens it to find Lance standing there, face glistening. Lance is wearing his normal clothing—that’s strange, he should’ve changed into pajamas by now—and tap-tap-tapping his foot outside the door impatiently. Keith frowns and says, “Hi.”

“Hi,” Lance says. His eyes are darting around like he’d rather be anywhere but here, and he’s switched his fidgeting to tapping his fingers. “Can I come in?”

Keith steps back from the doorway as an answer and sits on his bed, crossing his legs and curling as far into the wall as possible. His fingers go up to his ears, probing and prodding at them. They’re covered in a soft, thick fur, and the insides have tufts of slightly lighter fur. 

Lance is staring at him, even as he sits on Keith’s bed. “Why do you do that?” he says.

Keith’s hands drop to his lap. “Do what?”

Lance makes a random gesture with his hands. “Do—that. You always sit really small, and crowded in a corner, or something. Or am I making that up?”

Keith thinks about it. “No, you’re right. I guess—I like the feeling that no one can sneak up on me. And an aftereffect of foster families.”

To Keith’s relief, Lance doesn’t ask further. Instead, he says, “Did it leave a scar?”

Keith blanks for a moment—what is  _ it? _ Then he realizes what Lance is talking about. The gunshot wound. Keith nods and pulls the hem of his shirt up to show the blast mark on his right side. It’s a slightly darker part of his skin, rough where the wound had been healed by the pod. Another shudder goes through Keith involuntary. The cold from the cryopod won’t seem to go away.

Lance tilts his head to the side, eyes wide, like an owl. Keith internally curses himself for thinking that it’s cute. “Are you cold? The cryopods are freezing, I know from experience. One shut on me when the castle was taken over by the corrupted crystal, and  _ man _ , that was not a great experience—”

“Lance,” Keith interrupts. “I’m fine.” His body doesn’t seem to get the picture, though, because he’s still shivering.

Lance shakes his head and gives him a tiny smirk. “Stubborn idiot. Here.” He slips off his jacket and hands it to Keith. 

“No, you keep it,” Keith says. He can feel his face heating, and he’s not sure if purple can turn red, but he really doesn’t want to find out. “I’m okay, really.”

Lance rolls his eyes and throws the jacket at Keith. It drapes itself over his head like a very, very strange hat. “Take it. I was starting to get hot anyway.”

Keith rolls his eyes in turn and takes it off his head, slides his arms into the sleeves. It’s too big, and still warm from Lance’s body heat, and smells like Lance, and it’s an overwhelming sensation. He’s sure his face is bright red. “Thanks.”

Lance’s gaze is still drawn toward Keith’s ears, which perk up as Keith notices. Apparently he can move them. Strange. Keith tries to avoid biting his cheek in concentration as he moves his ears up, down, flat against his head, back to normal.

Lance is entranced, his mouth open and eyes fascinated. “Can I touch them?” he asks excitedly, looking like a kindergartener with a fire truck.

Keith stares at him blankly. “Can you what?”

“Can I touch them,” Lance repeats, leaning toward Keith to get a better look. 

“Fine,” Keith mutters, leaning toward Lance to allow him better access to his ears, which are apparently fascinating enough to warrant an excited expression.

Lance takes the opportunity to dig his fingers into Keith’s ears, eyes sparkling. He scratches along the line of one ear, and it’s then that both of them find out there’s one spot of Keith’s ears that could work as a  _ Melt Keith Switch _ . Lance hits that certain spot, and Keith slumps onto him. Lance laughs out loud. 

“Felt nice,” Keith protests weakly, drawing back from Lance. He’s too tired and too comfortable to feel embarrassed. Lance resumes scratching at his ears, and Keith and Lance are both surprised by the rumble that comes from somewhere deep in Keith’s chest.

Lance is open-mouthed and wide-eyed. “You  _ purr _ ? You’re like a space cat!” He gasps. “Galra are space cats! Maybe we can defeat Zarkon with a scratching post.”

Keith tries and fails to disguise his laugh as a cough. He doubles over, laughing, and then Lance digs his fingers into his sides— _ Oh no, Lance knew he was ticklish _ , and Keith reels back, laying on his back on the bed like an upside-down turtle, smacking feebly at anything in an attempt to stop the tickling sensation. “Lance,” he gasps out, “stop, I’ll take cryopod duty for a week!”

Lance stops for a moment, leaning over Keith. “ _ Two _ weeks,” he says, poking Keith’s chest with a finger for emphasis.

“Fine,” Keith mutters, although he knows he’s going to regret it, and Lance helps him sit up. He pulls too hard at Keith’s arm, and Keith’s suddenly far too close for comfort, their noses are nearly touching, Keith is still wearing Lance’s jacket, everything is too sharp and clear—

Then Lance is leaning forward, and Keith is too, and Lance presses his lips to Keith’s. It’s slow, and soft, and entirely (strangely, wonderfully) new. Keith has never been kissed before, although he’s sure Lance has, and something melts in his chest, filling it with a rush of warm affection for this tall, lanky boy in front of him.

Lance draws back slowly, leaving their foreheads leaned together. “Was that okay?” he asks softly, suddenly looking nervous.

“Yeah,” Keith murmurs. He shifts so that his head is leaning on Lance’s shoulder, and that’s when the real magnitude of what just happened hits him. He reels back, staring open-mouthed at Lance. “Wait,” he demands. “ _ You _ kissed  _ me _ . On purpose.”

Lance outright laugh at him. “Yes, I did, Keith. Get used to it, because I intend to do it a lot from now on.” He digs his fingers into Keith’s ears, and Keith slumps onto him again, the rumbling in his chest back to full volume.

“Have we really been dancing around each other for this long?” Keith wonders out loud. 

Lance puffs out a laugh. “You have no idea. Pidge once yelled at me, ‘Why don’t you two idiots confess already so you can go ride on your gay rainbow and stop aggravating us?’” Lance makes finger-quotes as he says it.

Keith snorts. “Shiro once suggested that we make Coran the flower girl at our wedding.”

Lance cackles, and his face is alight with happiness. Keith, without thinking about what he’s doing, takes a fistful of Lance’s shirt and pull him in, pressing his lips to Lance’s. Lance makes a strangled noise and then relaxes, fingers curling in Keith’s hair. 

When Keith draws back, it’s reluctantly. “You should head out. It’s late, and like Coran said, we’ve got a big meeting tomorrow.”

Lance nods absentmindedly, standing from the bed. Keith pushes himself off of it, too, and walks Lance to the door—which, admittedly, isn’t that far. The door slides open with the typical alien  _ whoosh _ ing noise, and Lance steps out, leaving Keith on one side of the door and Lance on the other.

“Are you gonna keep my jacket?” Lance teases, grinning.

Keith nods. “It smells like you.” Keith fully intends to sleep in it, although he doesn’t plan to tell Lance that. 

Lance’s grin is infectious. “Wow. Just—wow.” He takes a step back, seems to change his mind, steps up twice, so he’s standing just in front of Keith. He pushes back his bangs with one hand and presses his lips to Keith forehead, then says, “Bye, Keith. See you tomorrow?”

Keith nods, waves (slightly, awkwardly) as Lance practically skips down the hallway to his room. Then he shuts the door to his room and flops down on his bed, eyes wide and ears pricked fully upwards. He sucks in a breath, rolls over on his stomach, shoves his face into his pillow. “I can’t  _ believe  _ that just happened,” he mutters. 

Keith rolls over onto his back, stares at the ceiling. The lights flicker off, but Galra vision has its uses. He doubts he’s going to get a wink of sleep.

Then he blinks, and his eyes stay shut, and Keith falls, falls, falls into a dreamless sleep, a tiny smile still on his face.


End file.
